


Firebreather [Redux]

by poetica (TheFire_in_the_NightSky)



Series: Dum Spiro Spero [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A Tale of Two Lavellans, Alternate Canon, And other troubles, Basically what if the inquisitor was a bit of a headcase?, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Magical Accidents, Magical Bond, Mental Health Issues, Past Lavellan/Cullen, Past Lavellan/Lavellan, Past Relationship(s), Reluctant Inquisitor, Self-Discovery, Soul Bond, no love triangles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFire_in_the_NightSky/pseuds/poetica
Summary: *Rewrite/overhaul of my own unfinished fics, Firebreather & Lionsong.Dorian remembers the light– purple as it bruised the frigid air in the tent; wisps of his magic hovering over Felan’s prone form after Haven was consumed by fire & snow, both. He remembers the terribly odd, draining sensation that overcame him as he gave a piece of his very spirit to let another man continue giving the whole of himself unto Thedas. But he recalls, with utmost clarity, the gasp of life-returned that Felan took, and the heavy look of relief that swept over the commander’s grief-stricken face as they kneeled at their dear Herald’s bedside.Dorian has no illusions that he is indeed a selfish man, but what price are he and the Inquisitor to pay for this act of self-interest? He can only hope to keep his burgeoning affections at bay as he sees all this through, playing the part he was sograciouslyborn into. But when he looks to Inquisitor Lavellan, with his particularly endearing shades of ennui and despondency, Dorian surmises that perhaps no man is born into any set fate, they are only pushed and hammered into place by forces claiming sovereignty over a life not yet lived.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Male Character(s), Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Dum Spiro Spero [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1082457
Kudos: 6





	Firebreather [Redux]

**Author's Note:**

> **fire-breather**
> 
> _One who is intensely and aggressively passionate, and fiercely determined. Likened to a dragon or other beast able to shoot streams of fire from its mouth._
> 
> **A/N:** So, some of you may have already read some of or all thirteen chapters of the old version of this fic. It was unfinished, and still remains (temporarily) up on ao3, but I have decided to do my story and characters justice by overhauling and rewriting most of it, especially since my writing style has greatly changed & improved. I have also decided to fold in another fic, _Lionsong,_ from this series (which will also be deleted eventually from its own separate, previous posting). I hope readers of the previous version will be back to join me on this journey, and that any readers will enjoy what I plan on unfolding here. This story and its characters mean a hell of a lot to me, as it is my catharsis for my own mental health issues.
> 
> This fic has two prequels: Pt I: [The Time of the Lion and the Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879936/chapters/37001478), which is a look into the very start of Cullen/Felan's past "secret" relationship, with a smattering of In Hushed Whispers and In Your Heart Shall Burn events (including a certain magic spell that brings Felan back to life), & Pt II: [Un Coup d'œil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15418992/chapters/35787396), explores Felan's break up with Cullen and his first, albeit drunken, kiss with Dorian promptly after. You don't need to have read these to understand this main story, and if there are any details necessary from those, I will summarise them in the chapter notes as needed!

As Dorian lie there in bed, staring at the darkness caught along beams of the ceiling, he can discern that blasted, strange feeling thrumming through him again. It feels like… boiling river rapids rushing through his veins. It makes him break out in a cold sweat; his hair stands on end. Not quite feverish, but not even close to normal. Terribly uneasy feeling, truly. He knows what it is, of course. Though, Dorian is loathe to think on it too much these days. But the object of his fear, desire, and strange-goings-on is too near to let Dorian forget about the oddness wrapped around him. 

He lies there, knowing with needle precision, that Felan is still stewing in his secondhand anger. Nevermind that he is perched in a small chair across the cramped room, looking forlornly out the only window, pale hair made up of slivers of silver and charcoal within the dance of shadow and scant moonlight. Dorian knows because he can feel it, overworking his every nerve. Wouldn’t even need the man’s presence to know it. Dorian wonders if, in turn, Felan can intimately feel the dredges of his long-suffering familial heartbreak. How much of this is an unintentional give and take. Best not to linger on that thought too long. He nearly shudders beneath the sheets.

Regardless of his being thankful for Felan coming to his aid and defense during Dorian’s impromptu paternal reunion back in Redcliffe, his isn’t going to be getting any sort of much-needed rest if the Inquisitor insists on sitting watch like a dog with its hackles raised all night.

He sighs, tired and emotionally wrung out. “Inquisitor. I don’t think my father would try ambushing us  _ twice  _ in one day. Get some rest. Really.” Dorian reaches back to readjust his ‘pillow.’ He uses the term quite loosely. Probably stuffed with pigeon feathers and dried grasses plucked from outside the inn.

The chair gives a little creak. “You saw it, Dorian. He didn’t truly come to Redcliffe alone.” Felan’s voice is tight, but Dorian can tell he is exhausted from the day’s ride to Redcliffe from camp, then to this little speck of a village. Another term  _ – village – _ Dorian would use with severe hesitancy, though Fereldens seem easily impressed by the bare minimum.

“Ah yes, Halward’s faithful lap dogs. My father may be a persistent bastard, but he is also a shrewd man– he’d not want to offend a growing southern power such as the Inquisition.  _ It’d make House Pavus look bad, you see.” _

“I suppose I do.” Dorian hears another wheeze of old wood as Felan’s chair scrapes across the floor. Dorian watches his slight silhouette stand and make for the other bed, Felan’s footsteps near silent.

“If it would ease your mind, I could ward the door,” Dorian says with a hint of sarcasm.

Felan throws back the bedclothes. He lets out a weary little exhale and his darkened form seems to become all the more small with the release of his usual rigid posture. Dorian wishes he knew how to console Felan through the haze of his own anger and frustrations.

“No… I just…” Felan settles like smoke beneath the covers, disappearing into the monochrome shadow of the bed. Suddenly, Dorian is overcome with the loss of closeness they’d usually have when sharing a tent, the space between their stout beds feeling like a chasm. Memories of Felan, months prior, passing out in Dorian's bed at Skyhold after drowning his sorrows in drink – and kissing Dorian because of said drink – flash through his mind. 

“Go to sleep. I can practically  _ feel  _ the negativity buzzing off you from over here. I'm sure we'll find something to hit on the journey back tomorrow. Maker knows  _ I  _ could use it. You can let out all your doom and gloom then.”

Just when Dorian thinks perhaps Felan has begun to drift off finally, his rasp of a voice breaks through the silence in the room.

“Dorian… I– I'm sorry you've had to hide who you are, and were made to feel ashamed for it for so long. I… cannot imagine what that is like.”

“Yes, well. Something you Dalish seem to have a leg up on against we Tevinters, I suppose.” Dorian wonders if Felan truly doesn't remember the end of that particular night; he was quite drunk and mysteriously melancholy, after all. 

Perhaps he merely wanted to pretend nothing happened. Dorian would be used to that sort of thing. Though, he is also of the assumption that Felan may be the type to have a desire for their friendship to remain untarnished and uncomplicated by anything more. Almost daily, Dorian tries to convince himself he must be content with the close bond they already have and clear anything else from his mind.  _ Just like Mother and Father would want,  _ he thinks bitterly.

Unfortunately, Dorian has maintained a remarkable string of failures in forgetting the quick taste of Felan's wine-stained mouth, no matter how hard he tries to do otherwise. Never let it be said he wasn't the best at everything he did, even self-sabotaging heartache. The temptation of  _ more  _ was already dangled in front of him, and Maker, did Dorian want it to be so. Of course, things never fall in line for him quite like that, no matter how promising or tantalising a romantic endeavour appears to be. Probably for the best, that. A Dalish elf lauded as the Herald of Andraste and a Tevinter altus borne of a powerful, well-to-do lineage? They'd both be laughing stocks.

Besides, Dorian had already cursed Felan in a different way, hadn’t he?

“For what it’s worth… I am glad you’re here, not there, Dorian. I know Tevinter is your homeland, and you've given up much by being here, but– I think you could be happier. Rest well,” Felan murmurs, with a lightness seeping into his voice and deep beneath Dorian’s skin; his mood slightly brighter. 

Dorian is shocked into silence, finding no witty reply waiting at the well of his throat. Then there is a momentary sense of weight lifting from his chest before guilt is quick to dig its claws in after.

He feels a strange tingling wrap a dull ache around each knuckle of his left hand. Dorian turns onto his side and buries his fist beneath the lumpy pillow. Squeezes his eyes closed to blot out the landscape of Felan’s blanketed silhouette across from him.

_ Maker, what is this? What have I done? I only wanted to save him. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you dearly for any comments, kudos, or (polite) feedback! They are ever adored♡
> 
> You may find me on tumblr @thefire-in-the-nightsky, where my asks are always open, or on Twitter @oh_amatus.


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